Shiny Black Shoes
by ShowMeYourFury
Summary: The first things he noticed were the shoes.
**For a woman I loved, and always will.** _
_

 **Cover Art by: [** Chibali **] on tumblr.**

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The tall white doors pulled apart, and the first things Jaune noticed were the shoes.

There were so many pairs of shiny black shoes, toes and heels pointed in all directions as their wearers stood in small clumpy groups between pews and in the aisle. The sleek black leather stood out against the dull green carpet that someone in a manufacturing plant somewhere decided looked enough like grass that it would be a great idea to decorate it with four-petaled, white flower blossoms and winding dark green thorny 'stems', as if to make the floors look more natural.

Old lessons on the psychological effects of color rose to the front of his mind, and then were pushed down by what Jaune noticed next.

Nora looked so odd in black. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen her wear anything that didn't have some pink or other bright, warm color on it. Yet there she stood, next to Ren halfway across the room, with her hands clasped firmly to the strap of her purse as she held the bag in front of her and her entire body draped in black. He made his way towards the rest of his team, and when he was close enough Ren tapped Nora on the arm to notify her of her team's leader's presence. She glanced up from the floor, where Jaune imagined she too was wondering about the choice of green for the carpet, and managed to give him a small smile. He hugged her, and felt her small but powerful arms squeeze his chest tightly and rub back and forth slowly along his back. When she released him, Jaune turned to Ren and the boys shared a nod and a handshake. Jaune doubted if anyone but he and Nora could see the cracks in the young huntsman's stoic facade; to him, the pain and grief were like fissures miles deep.

Others approached the trio while they stood in the aisle – BRNZ, ABRN, CFVY – and Jaune returned the forced smiles and politely accepted the whispered words of condolence. He turned at the sound of the white doors opening again, and watched as Weiss entered the quiet room, the stark white of her hair and skin contrasting with the elegant black gown she wore. It took her some minutes to make her way to her classmates – her entrance had caught the attention of other attendees, and she was too polite to ignore a greeting – and then she stood in front of Jaune, meeting his blue eyes with her own, and Jaune saw the effort it took for her to smile at him. "Hello, Jaune," she said before stepping forward and hugging her arms around him. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," he lied, "just not used to this suit." He tried to cement the lie with a smile, but thought that it probably looked like a grimace.

"Well, it fits you very nicely," Weiss said as she reached up and pulled a hair off his shoulder and flicked it away.

"Thanks."

Further conversation was discouraged as the doors closed and the guests were motioned to sit. The service was brief; twenty minutes of uselessly comforting words uttered by a man who had never met the woman they were all gathered there to mourn. Jaune decided he did a good enough job. Unexpectedly, he was called to say a few words when the man finished.

When he reached the podium, his mouth was as dry as sand. "Th-Thank you all for coming. I-It is nice to see so many familiar and friendly faces. She'd have been really happy to... to see you all here. For her." He gulped; he could barely swallow past the lump in his throat. "Something Pyrrha told me once was that 'it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all'. I think she was right. She is immortalized for as long as there are memories of her, and I know I will remember her forever. And I also know I'm not the only one." He looked at Nora and Ren, and Weiss. "Thank you." He stepped away and returned to his seat.

Another ten minute speech and then they were asked to stand. He was handed a flower and told to place it by the urn. It took all his will not to break down when he stood in front of the glittering metal and lay his flower at the base. The damn thing was empty; there hadn't even been ashes to carry back to her family or to scatter in the wind.

He and everyone behind him waited to the side until every guest had placed a flower – the bright, sparkling gold was surrounded by soft white petals – and then, slowly, they filed out.

As he walked through the tall white doors, Jaune considered for a moment that it was a testament to the peaceful times that everyone's shoes were a shiny black. It meant they weren't worn often. He hoped that wouldn't change, but knew it already had. Sales of shiny black shoes were going to skyrocket. He wondered how long before he'd have to buy a new pair.

The guests stood in a winding line tracing from the funeral home's doors to the crematorium, a sobbing streak of quiet darkness on an otherwise pleasant, sunny day. It felt like the wind mourned with them as it washed down the line, ruffling dresses and ties, but not a soul moved as the urn was transported in a slow procession that followed the wall of attendees toward the crematorium. The line broke and the silent mourners gathered around the entrance to watch the urn be placed ceremoniously into the oven.

Moments later it was mutually decided by guests and hosts alike that the service was over, and it was time to go home. Many people approached Jaune to say goodbye, and he waved and shook hands and gave hugs to those who asked for them, until finally he was the only remaining guest.

"Goodbye, Pyrrha," he whispered to the wind, to the sun, to the sky, to the urn. To the scattered cinders, lost in the atmosphere.

His own pair of shiny black shoes squeaked as he walked away.

"I love you."

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 **Keep moving forward.**


End file.
